


Between the rock and a compromise

by SLWalker



Series: Witness me [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Wars, Consent, Flight Training, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Games, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Off-screen scenes, Pre-Blackbirds, Raze being Raze, Recovery, Scenes between chapters, Snippets, Tragedy, battlefield injuries, neuroscience, psychiatry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-07-29 17:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: Stories about the Blackbirds either before they come together, or bits and pieces from Blackbirds: Year One that aren't included in the story itself for purposes of flow.  Tags will be updated as pieces are added.





	1. Keeping Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for ajax-daughter-of-telamon.

Fighting had moved off, and Tally had moved in.

The ragged ground was littered with burned plastoid armor and limbs and whole bodies, a good three dozen just here alone; once he was finished triaging his own platoon, he took the weak call for help from the closest to them and found this scene.

The crater left behind from the shelling was still smoking.  So were some of the bodies.

His mind worked even over top of the sense of horror that was descending into the cracks between where knowledge and skill met, laying in his heart like ice-cold stones.  This wasn’t his first battlefield, but he’d only been out here for two weeks; the gold paint on his armor was still practically fresh.

The worst part – the  _very worst part_  – was having to pass the ones who stood no chance at all to get to the ones that still might.  He checked each body; his brothers, moaning softly or crying,  _dying where they fell_ , and he couldn’t possibly get them back to help in time to save them.

“Okay,” he whispered, to the trooper whose ribs glistened through his burned skin in lurid red and black and rust-colored dirt, armor peeled like fruit.  His hands were mostly steady as he got out the strongest painkiller he had and shot his brother with it, hoping to ease those last moments.

“I’m here,” he whispered, to the trooper whose legs were laying three meters from his body, catching his brother’s weakening hands as said brother tried to pull the large, jagged piece of shrapnel out of his own belly; Tally stopped him from it, because it was too late anyway, and held his hands and murmured reassurances that he didn’t believe himself as the troop slipped away into some place of no war and no pain.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, to the senior medic with the flail chest, who couldn’t possibly get enough air to speak; another dose of hardcore narcotics – that was twelve administered now, he was down to two doses – and Tally held his hands, as well, as they waited.  “You did good, I’ll save everyone I can,” he added, looking into the eyes of the older brother who had come out here to  _help_  and to  _heal_  and to  _save people_ , only to end up like this.

 _Why_ , was what Tally cried internally.  Every time.  _Why why why._

 

 

 

When it was over –  _except it’s never over_  he thought – and he went back to the  _Negotiator_  –  _to go somewhere else and do this all over again_  he thought – he put away his stolen imager in his locker –  _until someone else takes it from my body_  he thought – and then he marked the numbers down on his white board.

His hands trembled when he did.


	2. Dear Shiv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flanker's last letter to his brother.

_Dear Shiv,_

_Dunno when you'll get this. This whole situation on Christophsis has gone pear-shaped, we're under blockade right now, and communication's disrupted. I figure I'll set this to send the first chance a network connection opens up to the wider galaxy. Could be days, could be who-the-hell-knows, but you'll get it eventually and I'll probably get the fifty letters you've sent to me over the same time._

_Sorry, that sounds like I don't like it when you write, and if anything, it's the opposite. Sometimes still feels weird to look over and not see you next to me, so getting all those letters and reading them makes me feel like you're there again, at least for awhile. I wish I was as good at writing them as you, brother. You know how to put words together. If anyone ever wants a clone to write a novel or something, you're the man for the job._

_So, Christophsis. Our rations have been cut three times. We're down to half a bar per meal, and they aren't even the high calorie kind, but without any supplies getting through, trying to feed us and the civvies is a lot harder. The senator who brought the last relief shipment isn't eating any better than we are, though, so I guess that's something. Still, it's kind of miserable, all I can really think about is being hungry, even when I'm shooting clankers. Amazing how fast food disappears when there's none coming in._

_Kriff, I shouldn't complain about it. Everyone's in the same boat. Not like we've never gone on short rations on survival training missions, right?_

_All this green crystal makes me wish for just about any other color to look at. I don't know how people on this planet don't go crazy living here. But at least the clankers haven't been painted to match it, or anything._

_Keep telling me about the outpost you're helping set up. I mean, big people-eating flowers are creepy, but I laugh every time you talk about it. I think my favorite from the last letter that made it to me was you telling me about the shiny you had to cut out of the guts of one. Good thing they don't have teeth. I keep picturing the kid doing his survey and the flower looming over him and what the look on his face had to be when he turned around and the thing slurped him up like a noodle. 'I swear, Flanker, I've never seen a more beleagured shiny. He was just staring up at me, covered in sticky goop, like he couldn't believe that happened to him.' I laughed for ten minutes, no joke. So yeah, keep telling me about it all, it makes being here a lot more bearable._

_Wish I had some funny stories to tell you back. But things here just feel wrong. Bad. Can't explain it, it's just a feeling, and it's probably the blockade getting to me._

_I don't know. But keep writing. I'm going to go, get my half a ration bar, go on patrol. I might write again later._

_Take care, stay safe. See you down the road._

_-Flanker_


	3. Physics by Raze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by an anon long ago: _Raze gets stuck in a tree for some bizarre reason and Maul or Obi-Wan has to get him down._ Takes place during their little camping trip with Ahsoka, way back before A Runner of Fire.

“Do not.”

Raze looked down from his perch, face a little ashen and glistening with sweat. In his hand was a low-yield explosive, the kind of which would do very localized damage if it was dropped with the pin pulled. “It keeps moving, Lieu!” he cried back, his non-incendiary-occupied arm wrapped around the thin, swaying trunk of the tree.

“And you think it would stop if you dropped that?” Maul asked, trying hard – very hard – to keep his incredulity at a minimum and doubtless failing.

Raze nodded, head bobbing like one of those figurines that Tango had glued to the top of his locker. “I blow out the roots, but the roots on the other side break more slowly, the tree comes down and I jump off!”

That– was actually not altogether outwith possibility. Maul caught himself staring at the tree’s root systems for a long moment before he realized he was actually _contemplating_ allowing Raze to blow the thing up.

He shook it off, looking back up at his demo expert. “There _are_ easier ways, you know.”

“Nope, sir, this is the easiest, I just pull the pin, let go of the spoon, aim it right and problem solved. And we have firewood, too!”

Maul somehow resisted the urge to slide his palm down over his face. “It would be unseasoned wood. There’s plenty of deadfall, anyway.”

Raze looked dubious. His near black eyes narrowed. With all of the disgruntled reluctance of a toddler, he asked grudgingly, “How else do you think I should get down?”

One act of Force levitation, several terrified noises and a rescued demolitions expert later, and Raze was throwing his arms around Maul, completely unaware of how many bruises he was going to leave in the wake of his armor. “Thank you thank you _thank you–_ ”

Maul was frozen in place, before he gave an awkward pat on the back of one of Raze’s shoulders. “What were you up there for?”

Raze pulled back and pointed up; through the branches, Maul could see what looked like a rodent, fur all fluffed out from its near brush with a clone trooper. It had a long, though thin, striped tail and it chittered some extremely angry noise back at them, waving its paws in attempted menace.

“I wanted another one for my hat,” Raze said, sheepishly.

Maul went to reply, not sure whether he was about to admonish Raze for wasting time on hunting small furry animals or offer to _get the damn thing himself_ , and then just gave up with a half-groan, low in his throat, before walking away and shaking his head the entire time.


	4. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little snippet that happened off-screen [during the Blackbirds' time on Radnor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036421/chapters/37074945). Originally written for B_Radley with love.

Ahsoka wasn’t due down until the second shore party, but that didn’t stop Croft from calling her, on the off-chance something called him off Radnor before they could see each other face-to-face.

He felt a jolt at the sight of her drawn face, but the moment she saw his hologram, her eyes narrowed wickedly and she beamed, showing her canines _. “Well, I did want to see the **look** on your face–”_ she said, broad grin turning into a self-satisfied smirk. _“Now, I can.”_

Croft knew it had been her, who put the Blackbirds up to it. Wasn’t nobody else who liked to bomb people with neon green paint, not in the whole GAR. He worked his jaw and held up his former beard, still shaped like a brush, now congealed and dried stiff with the paint Raze had dipped it into. “Laugh it up, Runt,” he said. “But I’m not forgettin’ this anytime soon.”

 _“That’s fine. By my count, I’m still five ahead of you,”_ she answered, buffing her nails against the fatigue jacket she was wearing, putting on a smug expression. _“I can’t help it if you make such good bait, Bait.”_

Croft just sighed, long-suffering, and shook his head before dropping it so she couldn’t see his grin, now that he couldn’t hide it behind his facial hair.

(He ended up keeping that former-beard-turned-trophy, though; maybe someday in the future when she was down, he’d send it to her or something. For now, it got her to smile after Ryloth. Hair could grow back; hearts needed a lot more care’n that.)


	5. Landing Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny snippet of Rabbit learning how to fly from Tango.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on Tumblr, transferred here. Probably takes place during their furlough on Radnor.

“I don’t see why we have to do this, I piloted her just fine when we were evacuating Juma 9,” Rabbit complained, while Rancor wisely kept his trap shut and nodded at everything Tango said.

Tango pinned the ex-shiny with a long look, puffed up in a territorial manner. “Yeah, but landing and taking off with a BR-23 is a whole different bolo-ball court in different atmospheric conditions. So, sit down and start pre-flight so if anything ever happens to me, you can get her off whatever world took me out and not _kill everyone_.”

Rabbit made a face, but he sat down in the pilot’s seat and started pre-flight, flicking switches a little harder than necessary and using a goofy voice to rattle off checks.

(Needless to say, after Rabbit’s third simulated crash in snowy conditions, his attitude changed considerably and Tango did a better job of suppressing his own smugness than Rancor thought he was capable of.)

 


	6. Losing to Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Ajax, cleaned up and contextualized. The Blackbirds play a late night game of space!Jenga on their way to Llanic.

“If any of you breathe wrong, I won’t speak to you for a week,” Castle – ironically – breathed out. The fact that he, himself, was wavering in place made that even more amusing.

The hum through the deckplates of the _Nest_ as she made her way towards Llanic wasn’t enough to disturb the incredibly precarious tower of blocks on their briefing/dinner table, late into the evening. Unless they came out of hyperspace too fast, or something happened to the courier, nothing was going to disturb the tower that wasn’t living.

Maul, wisely, forwent the Sonarian Spirit Rum that some of the Blackbirds had finally gotten into, now that things with Eogan had settled. He had no desire to experience a hangover again, and he didn't think that even if he was willing to chance one, he wanted to make himself any more vulnerable than he already felt. But thus far, he was the only one absent Tango who hadn’t had a drink, and so he thought Castle’s warning was probably warranted.

“But I wanna take one,” Rabbit complained, sitting at the table, sprawled in his spot. He pointed to a block in the tower. “Can’t I come back for another round?”

“Sorry, kiddo, you’re already out.” Husker had his chin braced on his hand; he looked about ready to nod off at the table himself. “We all are; just down to those two now.”

Castle eyed Maul; Maul raised a brow, expectantly. Then, leaning closer to the tower than strictly wise, Castle gingerly reached out and caught the block he wanted, flicking it outwards before deftly plucking it from its spot.

The tower swayed a tiny amount. Everyone else held their breaths. Castle looked at it intently, desperately, drunkenly, and Maul absolutely _didn’t_ adjust it the tiniest fraction with the Force so that it would stay upright.

Nor did he pull just a little harder than he should have when it was his turn, ending the game with a loss.

He just flipped the block to Castle, who managed to catch it. “Looks like you won,” he said, shrugging.

Castle beamed back proudly, then promptly fell back in his chair and was snoring there within short order, and thus missed the way Maul grinned to himself as he went to go get ready to drop into his own bunk.


	7. Psychiatry and Neuroscience I: Explicit Consent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking I'd write out a whole big chapter of this, but it's taking forever. So, I'll just post the chunks as I have them. <3 Tally and Shiv decide to talk about their Lieu's head, but first, they should probably _ask_ him first. This bit picks up right after the tail end of War Crimes, in Blackbirds: Year One. Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, head or otherwise. (But I have several friends who are.)

Smarty might have come up with the rules, but Tally was the one who had nudged him into it.

Mostly, Tally figured that letting Maul and Eogan hash it out in a free-for-all could well end up with one or the other of them having some kind of a breakdown, because the weight of history hanging between them would have been daunting for anyone. Therefore, having it regimented into something a little less intense seemed like a good idea. Keeping it to one period of the day, and making sure there were definite breaks every hour or so, kept them from getting too wound up to actually _communicate_.

Even then, it was still pretty hard; Maul had no trouble recounting Sith history, and in fact patiently answered every question that he could, but the moment that it turned into _his_ history, his answers got short. But since he'd led into it with Sith history, he had to explain what his own position in the order had been, and that meant actually talking about _before_ , which was something he had managed to avoid for the most part -- intentionally or unintentionally -- otherwise.

Where did he come from? Either Iridonia or Dathomir, but he thought it was probably Dathomir, because he was a Nightbrother.

What was a Nightbrother? He wasn't sure, except that they were zabrak-human hybrid slaves to the largely human Nightsisters, used for labor and breeding. (Tally had almost cracked a tooth at that one; he'd known the Nightbrother part, not the 'who were they' part, and the idea that his lieutenant had been bred and born for slavery had burned him hard; hard enough that Maul had fallen quiet and watched him like he might explode until he managed to breathe it off. He also wasn't the only one bothered by that. Apparently, it was another silent point of commonality Maul shared with his squad, though the clones had been bred for labor and war, instead of labor and sex.)

From there, there were pieces of more. He was raised mostly by a droid on Mustafar. He learned "discipline" as he learned how to kriffing walk and talk. He exercised when told, at random. He sometimes didn't eat for days, and commented that he learned how to ignore it as much as he could. He talked about earning a kriffing _sleeping mat and blanket_ like that was a good thing. He was educated. He learned how to use the Force by, basically, being beaten into it-- except when Maul explained it, it all sounded like he thought it was a perfectly okay way to teach him something. He had no frippin' clue that it was all soul-sickeningly abusive, or if he did, then he only got it on an academic level and not on an emotional one.

And that wasn't even most of it. Or even more than the barest skimming of it.

Tally could hear the edits, and the blank spaces Maul left were horrifically dark. And there were things Maul said he honestly didn't remember anymore. But what he did remember and was willing to say, he recounted with that factual-but-questioning tone like he wasn't sure what the relevance of any of it was. It was enough to make Tally want to shake him and point to the fifty-kriffin'-thousand ways he was still walking wounded from it.

There were a lot of breaks during those parts, just moments when someone called for one. Raze slipped out once, and Tally was pretty sure he went to hide somewhere to cry. Misty went with him, looking kind of green. Shiv tapped out once, too; he said it was to use the 'fresher, though no way was he in the 'fresher that long for the usual reasons and his composure looked tenuous when he came back.

For Tally's part, he vanished back into his medbay and tried not to-- do something. Maybe scream. Probably scream.

Anyway, Maul might not have figured out what the hell was wrong with all of that, but he knew he was upsetting them, so he edited his answers even more, skimming over whole years, and by the time he got up to Cog Hive Seven (like that wasn't a nightmare!) he almost seemed _relieved._ And really, listening to those parts was disturbing, but not as emotionally harrowing; Maul had obviously shaken off _that_ violence, maybe because he'd already gone through worse. Tally also finally got an explanation for that damaged right shoulder, too; that Maul had intentionally dislocated it himself while being torn limb-from-limb, to give himself space to get out of his restraints, and hadn't been able to get to treated beyond popping it back into place himself. That same shoulder was damaged later by a blaster, but bacta had been able to at least repair that damage, where the rest was already healed too far on its own.

Eogan's side of that story filled in gaps for Maul, and vice versa. They seemed to reach a kind of peace with it, even. And then Eogan told his story of what came after, which made Tally like the guy even more than he'd already started to.

Then the _now._

 

 

 

"You realize I'm not actually a doctor and that I'm mostly just working off of a lot of reading, conjecture and observation, right?" Tally asked, as Shiv looked up at him from his appropriated chair, eyes sharp. For some reason, being asked to actually _detail out_ his thoughts felt daunting; like Tally was presuming where he had no business presuming, squad medic or no. Even if he had been _using_ all of those things on the job and had been almost from the start, though his knowledge base had grown considerably over the past several months.

 _That's Kamino talking,_  he tried to remind himself. _I'm not kriffin' unintelligent despite being gestated in a tube._

"Okay?" Shiv asked back, tilting his head and not taking his gaze off of Tally. "I'm pretty sure actual doctors don't learn most of what they learn without those things. You're not a layman, either, you're a field medic. And besides, Tally, I've _seen_ you work. I'd take you over one of them anyday."

"I'd hope not; major surgery's something you don't learn by reading," Tally answered, after a moment, though the compliment had a smile tugging at his mouth.

Shiv shrugged back. "But we're not talking major surgery. So, talk to me about neuroscience and psychiatry."

Thoughts jumbled up in Tally's mind at that; despite himself, he had been thinking about that subject all day. The body of knowledge about Dathomirian zabrak-hybrids was _nonexistent_ beyond Maul; his records and scans and everything that Surgeon General Che had accumulated over the years. That was it. And she was thorough, as thorough as a Jedi could be; there were huge gaping blind spots in there, because she never actually diagnosed him with anything in terms of mental health, even though he was clearly dealing with several things, but she'd been good about the physical at least.

Tally had spent a lot of time correlating that information to Iridonian human/zabrak hybrids, who at least had _some_ information out there about them. They ran the gamut, too; various degrees of percentages and the manifestations of genetics.

He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment, glad Shiv was waiting patiently for him to order his thoughts, then finally said, "I think I better ask Maul if I can go into this with you."

He didn't _have_  to ask; in fact, most medical professionals wouldn't even bother. But the idea of getting into Maul's head without his permission to someone else felt wrong, and Tally hadn't expended all this effort just so he could turn around and perpetuate that kind of overbearing banthashit on his L-T. He wasn't above taking some advantage of his knowledge -- like a few days ago when he took advantage of Maul's post-flashback tractability to load him up on anti-anxiety medication, knowing Maul wasn't likely to refuse in that state, though Tally had been careful to emphasize the choice even then -- but this was a line he didn't want to cross.

"Okay, so let's." Shiv popped up and left and Tally rolled his eyes with an exasperated huff and a smile before following him out.

Maul was in the common area, stowing away the last of the dishes he'd hand-washed. He blinked at them when they came in, then nodded to the kettle in its bracket. "I've already washed it, but I can put another pot on."

"Actually, I was wondering if it was okay if Tally and I talked about your brain," Shiv said, sliding past Maul and pulling open the fridge to look in, seemingly absently. "I mean, you're welcome to come and talk about it too, obviously, it being yours."

That had Maul looking startled; he flicked a glance back and forth between them, then asked, cautiously, "--why do you want to discuss my brain?"

"'Cause it's frippin' fascinating," Tally answered, and that was absolutely the truth. "Not in a bad way," he added, right after. "But-- how you categorize threats and the responses to, stuff like that."

"You mean a few nights ago," Maul said, expression doing darker. Some mix of wariness and an edge of irritation.

Tally genuinely that thought was a good sign, too. Not the wariness, but the irritation at them arriving to the point in an elliptical orbit. "Yeah. The flashbacks. The brain chemistry that kicks off, specifically, and how it's all interrelated. Like Shiv said, you're welcome to discuss it, too. And if you say 'no, leave my head alone', we will."

Operant conditioning was a hell of a thing. Because Tally _knew_ Maul wouldn't have been genuinely angry if they'd just gone ahead without asking permission and he later found out; he would have just logged it as something that made him feel uneasy and maybe distrustful, and they would have been none the wiser, except that he might have quietly closed a formerly open door with them on the other side and then, sometime when they needed that trust, it wouldn't be there.

Undoing that conditioning was going to probably be a lifetime effort, but a worthy one. Repetition. Consistency. Trust. And _choice._

"To what end?" Maul asked, arms crossed.

"Curiosity. And I hate to be the one to break this extraordinary piece of news to you, Lieu, but you don't have a monopoly on _worrying_ around here," Shiv said, closing the 'fridge without finding anything he wanted to snack on, eying Maul with amusement and clear affection.

"I don't need _worried_  over. I don't _want_  to be worried over," Maul shot back, looking a little cornered, though not a desperate amount.

"Tell me how well that worked for me after what happened after Orto Plutonia," Shiv handed right back. "I didn't want you to worry, but you did anyway."

"All you gotta do is say 'no' to this, though," Tally added, more gently. "I mean, mutual worry is going to be a thing no matter how much you two -- my two favorite banthashit stoics -- do to try to keep each other from it--" There, Shiv gave him a look of jokingly offended ire. "--but I won't discuss anything with anyone past situational necessity if you don't want me to, Lieu. And like Shiv said, you're welcome to come and talk too; maybe understanding more about the science behind it all will help it make more sense."

Maul looked between them for a long moment; still uncertain, but maybe less wary now. Then he worked over his face and his shoulders relaxed fractionally. "Go ahead," he said, finally, dropping his hand. "For my part, though-- I think I've had about all of the self-reflection I can stand right now."

"Fair enough," Shiv said, walking past Maul and reaching out to snag and tug a horn on the way by. "You change your mind, just say something."

After three days of talking, dragging pieces of his past out and dealing with everything that came with Eogan, that was a-- really frippin' impressive bit of self-awareness. And if anything at all made Tally feel like he was on the right track, with all of this, it was that Maul not only came to that conclusion but said it aloud; that he couldn't really deal with any more digging at the moment, even if he was willing to allow them to go do it.

Repetition, consistency, trust, choice, and learning how to set  _boundaries;_  that was how you undid a lifetime of conditioning.

Kriff, Tally was so proud of him. He was grinning a klick-wide grin when he walked out, clapping Maul on the shoulder as he went, much to the zabrak's eternal confusion.


	8. Heirloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Farther Along and The Awkward Squad, Maul calls Bail with a question as they cruise into Radnor's system.

“Why did you give us this? Obi-Wan and I.”

Bail looked back, somewhat bemused, and Maul held up the edge of the blanket he was wrapped in as illustration. The edge of it, worn soft, was a faded red, except on one section that had been repaired at some point and was more a muted orange leaning towards yellow; somehow, Maul had found himself contemplating that as he had watched Raze and Tango snuggling in it, sharing one of the large, formless chairs someone had gotten on Llanic, watching a drama program of some kind that Castle had rigged to project on the bunk room wall. Maul had no interest in following the drama, but he did find himself contemplating the blanket some, especially given how much extra use it had gotten of late from the squad.

(The fact that he could pick out their scents – individual and blended – when he wrapped up in it himself made him smile, even if he couldn’t quite grasp why.)

After Raze and Tango had given the blanket back and split up, one to get ready to land on Radnor with Shiv, Rancor and Rabbit and the other to take his cockpit back from the latter of those, Maul had checked the time and gave into the impulse to go question Bail about it. It was well into evening on Coruscant, anyway; the Blackbirds were still on Llanic-time and would readjust to standard if they needed to over the next few days, but it lined up well enough.

_“Because I wanted to,”_ Bail answered, still looking good-naturedly confused. _“Because I wanted you to have it.”_

“But it’s an heirloom.” Maul put his heels up on the edge of the chair he was occupying, even though the motion was largely pointless given he couldn’t feel half of it, drawing the quilt around himself like a cloak. "And what if it gets damaged?“

_"The point of giving it to you is that it is an heirloom,”_ Bail chuckled, shaking his head. _“If it gets damaged, just repair it; it’s meant to be used and worn out and repaired and then used more. I doubt there’s any panel on that quilt that was there when it was originally made.”_

That got a little tangled in Maul’s mind; the sideways declaration of family, though that wasn’t the first time Bail had expressed such a sentiment. And the idea that it was precious enough to pass down from generation to generation, yet not so precious as to be guarded zealously like an artifact of earlier times.

And the idea that Bail had given it to them. To _him_.

His thoughts were still a little slow, and detangling them was more effort than he necessarily had to give at the moment, but he still asked, “What if it gets destroyed, or I lose it?”

Bail rested his chin on his palm, face warm with affection. _“Sew a new one and put it back into circulation. And when the time comes – hopefully many decades from now – to pass it on, give it to someone you love. What makes that one– I guess precious isn’t so much what it’s made of, or how old it is, it’s what goes into it. Who loves it. That one’s lived at the summerhouse for as long as I can remember, kind of like a constant part of the background of my life, a part of my childhood, a part of some of the happiest days of that childhood. After everything that happened, I just knew it was time to give it to you. But if something happens to it, then it happens. It’s meant to be used and slept under and enjoyed, and the thought behind that isn’t about the fabric it’s made of, Maul. So, if something does happen to it, make another.”_

Maul did know how to sew, though he’d only done so for minor repairs. He’d never attempted to make anything large with that skill, only fix tears or patch his own clothes. He turned his chin and rested it for a moment to his own shoulder, right at the seam between an old, faded blue piece and a brighter, newer blue-green one, and tried to imagine what would go into such an effort. "Does this one need to be gone before another one gets made?“

Bail laughed at that, a happy sound. _"Nope. But if I get you into quilting, I’ll bet my great-grandmother will throw a party on the other side of beyond. She was the last one who regularly sewed by hand in my family; I never got into it, though I’ve made a repair a time or two.”_

Something to consider, anyway. Maul had nothing he considered a ‘hobby’, but the idea of perhaps making something for his squad was appealing. “The Blackbirds use it all of the time,” he said, mind tumbling over half-fogged thoughts about _why_ ; about what it must have been like to grow up on cold, sterile Kamino, and what it meant that they were drawn to the patchwork, lived-in nature of the blanket, as if they could feel some connection to a history they’d been denied. It made his chest ache to think about. "That’s all right, right?“

_"Yeah, absolutely. They’re your family, right?”_ Bail asked, though given the look in his eyes, Maul wasn’t the only one contemplating their histories. _“And you’re a part of mine. Don’t think too hard about it, okay? That quilt is doing exactly what it’s made to do. And any that get made like it will do the same.”_


	9. The Practical Applications of Rock Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Shiv and the Triple R Trio bring back a human-type flu from Nar Shaddaa, Maul's the only one left standing to take care of everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I am working on the next part of Blackbirds. But figured that in the meantime, I would get all of the fluff out of the way first. >.> Mainly to force myself to write _something_.)

"Don't even start, I am -- by a klick and a half -- the best at self-care in this whole squad, except maybe for Raze--"

It took every bit of Maul's considerable will to keep his brows in 'neutral', as he took in his reeling, somewhat cornered medic. "All right, but you're still sick."

Tally stared back at him through his disheveled curls, most of them having worked their way free from the bun he had them pulled back into, only a token scruff at the back of his head denoting the bun had been there in the first place. His eyes were fever-bright, his face was shiny and occasionally he muffled a ragged cough into his elbow. "So's everyone else. Who--" another coughing fit nearly doubled Tally over, then he managed to finish, "--else is gonna take care of 'em?"

It had not taken long once Shiv and the rest were back on the _Nest_ for the pan-galactic H-type flu to roll over the entire squad. It started with those four, but then rapidly struck the rest of them. Tally had been quite vehemently frustrated by the lack of the right antivirals, especially as the entire GAR had been vaccinated with the wrong strain for the year and thus had no real defense against the one that surged up in the Outer Rim and worked its way coreward. To make matters worse, production of the correct vaccine was too slow to catch up.

But despite Tally being incredibly careful, he still caught it himself by the end of the second day.

Maul's hybrid genetics did a surprisingly good job protecting him from most human-type viruses, though he was likewise vaccinated against as many of them as available. So, while the rest of the squad was taking ill, he had remained fine and had been acting as something of a medical assistant for Tally. And since he had been acting as such, now he _did_ raise a brow. "I've been doing an adequate job thus far," he pointed out, edging a little closer and not the least bit unaware of the irony of the role reversal. "I think I can handle this much."

"I know, but--" Tally looked around at the rest of the medbay, though the squad as a group were all holed up in their own bunks; the motion made him waver on his feet and for a moment, he seemed profoundly young and lost.

"But?" Maul prompted, continuing his slow approach; he had no intentions of wrestling his medic down, but Tally was clearly nothing like steady on his feet.

Tally's shoulders slumped and he pressed a hand to his own brow, sounding breathless as he tried, "I should-- I have to--"

He didn't manage to get anything else out before he wavered again, then tried to over-correct, then fainted dead away. Maul caught him before he could hit the deck and picked him up, frowning for the heat radiating off of the medic, and carried him to his bunk to settle him there; all around the bunk room, the Blackbirds were either sleeping or coughing or occasionally groaning.

"Finally got him, huh?" Shiv asked, sounding bleary and miserable, as Maul put Tally to bed and took an extra moment to get the elastic band out of his hair so it wouldn't tangle any worse than it already was.

"I think he technically got himself, this time," Maul just answered, shaking his head and smoothing down the disheveled curls before getting up to get an extra cold compress.

 

 

 

It wasn't actually hard acting as caretaker for them. The most trying part was keeping up on which medications had to be dispensed when to which clone, and Maul had a datapad to help keep track of that. Despite the near-identical genetic code, the Blackbirds also had different presentations of the flu; Raze was having the hardest time breathing, while Shiv was mostly just run down and only coughing intermittently. Smarty had a badly sore throat and whimpered every time he had to swallow a pill, though the tea with some of the Alderaanian honey and a splash of some leftover whiskey seemed to help.

Beyond their differing symptoms, they also had different inclinations. Castle and Husker both curled around themselves and didn't want any kind of disturbance and nothing touching them beyond a blanket, though neither of them were surly. Brody, on the other hand, was snappish and irritable, though he didn't get mean so much as just abrupt. Rabbit and Rancor both stayed firmly together, even though neither of them could get much sleep for their coughing; still, Maul wasn't going to try to force them to give up their proximity to each other. Tango seemed to alternate between wanting affection and being embarrassed for wanting it, which was confusing. Misty was the quietest of them; more than once, Maul checked to make sure Misty hadn't somehow taken a turn for the worse, but every time, it turned out that he just wasn't inclined to make noise and preferred to sleep as much as he could.

One thing was universal: Every blanket on the _Nest_  was in rotating use, either being clung to or kicked off, only to be snatched and clung to again. The bunk room looked like a blanket warehouse as much as anything else.

Maul had dropped them out of hyperspace when it became clear that minding the squad was a full time job, then had consulted with the Organas, who both had suggestions. Like the tea and honey. And rock candy. Bail also had some suggestions for soup, which Maul would have to cannibalize several different meal packs to create. Between all of that was cool compresses and electrolyte drinks and a _lot_ of hair stroking and occasionally Tally making something of an effort to get up; when he was thwarted, he gave orders instead.

"Turn up the humidity some," he said, voice coarse and skin flushed, after being nudged into laying back down again. "Dunno why I can't get up to do that," he added, more churlish.

Maul did as he was told, then came back and sat on the edge of the bunk again, eying Tally with some measure of amusement. "I'm not sure how I'm unqualified to change the atmospheric settings."

Tally pursed his mouth and then huffed out. "You're not, I just don't like-- this. Being helpless."

That was a feeling Maul knew all too well, having been rendered such so many times that he couldn't have counted them even if he was inclined to. Sometimes the answer was to fight back; sometimes it was to simply turn inwards and endure. And sometimes, there was really nothing else but to exist in that state, either too exhausted or too despondent to alleviate it. "You're not. I'm certain if there was an emergency, you'd rally regardless of the cost. But-- there's no emergency," he said, reaching out to turn the compress to its cool side and smiling a little internally at the way Tally's eyes closed in relief for a moment, "so all you need to do is rest and recover."

Tally scoffed back, then fell into a coughing fit that left him a little breathless before asking, "You're taking care of yourself, too, right?"

"I am." Not quite able to resist, Maul asked back, "If I were in your position, what would you tell me to do right now?"

Across the room, Shiv barked a laugh and said, "I shoulda never taught you that, Lieu."

Tally grumbled, though he didn't agree or disagree. Still, he rolled his eyes, then settled down a little more. "I'd tell you to hush and rest and do as you're told by your _qualified medic._ "

That almost made Maul laugh, and he shook his head with a wry grin. "Well, then I'll just tell you to hush, and to rest, and to do as you're told by your debatably-qualified _lieutenant._ "

There was a little more grumbling about rank-pulling and mirrors, but for once, it was Tally who was following orders.

 

 

 

"I'm just supposed to break it?" Maul asked, eying the sheet where a golden-brown layer of something that was supposedly candy gleamed transparently.

 _"Yeah, but check your soup first,"_ Bail answered; he was apparently at his desk in his office on Coruscant, and working even as he was giving Maul long-distance lessons in candy-making and simmering things. _"Give it a little stir."_

Maul did as he was told; inventing a broth of cubes, water and salt, and then a soup made of the meat and vegetables and rice from eight different meal packs had been an interesting bit of something Bail had jokingly called _'kitchen-bashing-- you know, like kit-bashing but for a kitchen'_ and then had giggled about that while Maul rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh back at such a terrible joke, because _'kitchen-bashing sounds like a culinary assassination rather than an inventive process.'_

The soup _did_  smell good; he didn't have any herbs or anything to add to it -- Bail said he would correct that next time he sent them a care-package or ten -- but it seemed to be turning out all right regardless. Even Maul thought it was a pity they didn't have any bread to go with it.

Once done with that, he went back to looking over the sugar-honey concoction on the sheet. "You said this would help with the coughing?"

 _"Should do. Just break it up into small enough pieces and don't let any of 'em fall asleep sucking on them."_ A beat. _"Or forget to brush their teeth."_

The end of the spoon he'd been using on the soup worked well enough, once it was rinsed. Just out of curiosity, Maul picked up a small piece and popped it into his mouth after he was done fragmenting the sugar-glass sheet.

The face he made must have been something else, because Bail started laughing at him. _"Yeah, it's pretty sweet. But I promise, your Blackbirds will love it."_

Maul scrunched his nose up -- sweet was quite an understatement -- but he didn't spit the piece back out in the recycling, just shifted it over to one cheek to keep sucking on it while he started moving the other pieces into a container.

 

 

 

Bail was right, though; the Blackbirds _did_  love it. Tally said something about needing to learn emergency dentistry, but the soup and then the candy -- along with many more mugs of tea -- was enough to get the squad sitting up in their bunks, at least long enough to eat. It was also the first time in a couple of days that the room wasn't filled with the sound of hacking, absent Raze, who seemed to get better while he was upright, but then went right back to it when he was laying down again.

That was how Maul ended up being the backrest to an ill demolitions expert; once he was finished with dishes -- and there were quite a few of those -- and dispensing any required medications to control fever or congestion, he came back to find Raze sitting in one of the large bean chairs from Llanic, looking exhausted, wrapped up in the quilt and shivering a little despite the medication and the overall temperature of the room.

"Can't sleep?" Maul asked, frowning and crouching down, reaching out to press a hand to Raze's brow.

He was a little warmer than human-norm, though not nearly as bad as he had been at some points. Raze leaned into the touch, then back again; he shook his head some. "Keep waking up coughing."

"Is sitting up helping?"

"Some." Raze gave a little hitch of a shrug. "'Cept I keep slipping when I fall asleep again."

Maul glanced over the chairs and then got to rearranging them some, forming a bit of a hollow on the floor; when he was done with that, he gestured for Raze to move for a moment, then just put himself in the middle of the makeshift nest and offered his arms so he could play backrest.

The way Raze's face lit up at that, even as sick as he was, was unfathomably amusing.

And warm.

 

 

 

(When Tally woke up in the middle of the ship's night, he knew they'd all turned the corner when all was quiet; even he ended up smiling when he saw Raze, deep asleep, leaning against a likewise sleeping zabrak. Satisfied that everyone was okay for the moment, he drifted back off himself and let the peace of that follow him down.)


	10. Definitions for Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glance at the mission to the listening post; Maul falls through some lake ice, Obi-Wan gets the _what for_ handed to him by Tally, but it ultimately ends softly.

Obi-Wan never _forgot._ To say that he did would be ignoring the many and vast complicated coping mechanisms he had built over time to live with the fact that he was deeply, abidingly in love with someone he had cut in half. Even if he wanted to forget, he wouldn’t; would not do Maul such a disservice as pretending that he hadn’t suffered the loss, which had been and sometimes still was catastrophic.

But sometimes the knowledge didn’t necessary correlate to all facets of reality, either; for instance, it didn’t occur to him to realize that scouting over lake ice, using the Force to pick a safe path, was far easier when living skin was close to the surface, separated only by thick boots.

If Maul had misgivings, he hadn’t spoken them; as always, he just doubled-down on his will and his nerve and went along with it. They couldn’t afford to make a lot of noise, hence their lack of air support; the troopers behind them were counting on them to chart a safe path, and the past three days had been spent huddling quietly in white-out tents or moving gingerly across the frozen landscape. This was the only way to take the heavily guarded separatist listening post and communications relay with the minimum of lost life, and in the hopes of saving many more down the road.

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan forgot. In fact, he noted that Maul kept one hand ungloved, despite the bitterly cold air; held that hand out and down, fingers splayed, relying on the Force through it rather than through his feet, as he would have instinctively done were he walking on flesh and blood. It had to be painful, the wind on exposed skin; Obi-Wan knew well just how much Maul hated the cold, but it was what Maul had to work with and therefore what he used. It was just that Obi-Wan thought that was _enough_.

It wasn’t enough.

The loud crack echoed against snowdrifts, but it hadn’t even finished doing that before there was the awful sound of ice shattering and the equally awful sound of something heavy falling into water. Obi-Wan had only half-spun when the wave of panic hit him like a duracrete wall, slamming into his chest and paralyzing him for what felt like hours, but had to only be a second or two.

He didn’t pause to think, just dove on his belly for the new hole in the ice, hoping that the change in weight distribution would keep him from following after, and managed to plunge his arms into the gap, grabbing hold of two handfuls of wet parka and hauling Maul’s head back up above water.

The pain was incredible; a thousand vibroblades into his skin, humming against all of the bones of his arms.

Even that didn’t quite reach the pain in his chest, though; the unfettered, unshielded _terrorpainconfusionbetrayal_ rolling off of Maul like a shoaling wave, and the way his own heart pounded in response to it. Half-broken thoughts screamed through Obi-Wan’s mind; those legs were weighted like flesh and blood, but didn’t have the buoyancy, he couldn’t focus enough past the maelstrom to just pull Maul out with the Force–

There was an ominous rumble and a thousand cracks spidered outwards in all directions, the Force reacting to Maul’s panicking. Obi-Wan opened his mouth–

_–and for a bare instant, he wasn’t himself anymore; he was much smaller and sinking under dark water, too heavy to make it to the surface, broken ice floating over his head–_

"Darling," he forced out, strained, but even then he managed to keep his tone gentle, digging deep to find himself in all of this, against the borrowed instinct that was only screaming _getoutgetoutgetout_ , "stay with me."

He didn’t even realize he’d had his eyes closed until he pried them open; Maul was clawing with nerveless fingers at Obi-Wan’s arms and the ice itself, crumbling the edges, eyes wide and sightless and glowing, lashes already freezing. If he heard Obi-Wan, there was no indication on his face.

If Obi-Wan didn’t get a handle on things soon, the entire sheet of ice was going to break up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan could see three of their troops edging out; Cody, Shiv, Tally. He tried to center himself, projecting as much reassurance and calm as he could without actively trying to connect mentally. "Shhhh. I’ve got you, I just need you to stay here with me," he said, keeping his voice steady by some effort of will he was surprised he had.

The combination of voice and Force signature finally seemed to break through; it was only after Maul finally made eye-contact, still gasping desperately and clawing for purchase that Obi-Wan realized just how much trust he was asking for.

That he was asking Maul to fight every instinct he had.

"I have you, I _love you_ , I’m not going to let you go." It had to be enough; it _had_ to be.

When the tempest eased some, Obi-Wan was finally able to harness the Force past it; drew on not only his own training, but just how much he meant those words, using it to drag his waterlogged darling out of the water and both of them back to what he knew had been stable ice.

They were both shaking violently, clinging to one another, when their troops finally made it out to pull them both off of the lake and back to shore.

 

 

 

Their white out tents were considerably more friendly to flesh than the world outside was. Made of material which shielded heat signatures from overhead scanning, they were also effective at keeping said heat _inside_. They weren’t cheap, either; the company which made and provided them charged a fortune, and he'd had to fill out a fair amount of forms to account for the two the Blackbirds had destroyed on their training mission, in fact. Now, Obi-Wan had most of the Grand Army’s collection of them with him on this mission, as they sought intel on the heavily contested world of Felucia.

Right now, he was very grateful for that fact.

He was also reasonably sure he was about to get his ears blistered, and while that heat was metaphorical, it was also best kept inside.

To Tally’s eternal credit, he did his job first; he went over Obi-Wan from head-to-toe, checking him over, even though Obi-Wan had protested that he was fine. That protest was the only protest; the look he got back very effectively shut him up and he submitted himself to the rest of the exam without any further one, only murmuring his thanks when Tally handed him a mug of sweet tea, adjusted the temperature on the heated blanket around him and declared that he was all right. Something he had already known, but it seemed a good idea to just give in and let Tally make sure.

When Tally sat down on the collapsible seat across from him, eying him and clearly debating on whether now was the time to speak up, Obi-Wan almost smiled. Not because there was anything funny about any of this; there wasn’t. But because Tally was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, what he had been chosen to do.

"Let me have it, I can take it," he said, settling himself and his mind with a slow breath out.

"Where do you want me to start?" Tally asked back, and if Obi-Wan found the lack of ‘sir’ or 'General’ to be an odd relief, that was something he’d probably best not tell anyone aside Maul and maybe Tally himself.

Obi-Wan gave a rueful half-smile back. "How’s Maul?"

Their separation certainty hadn’t been planned; it was just a matter of emergency. How quickly a group of clones could set up tents was incredible, but even then, everything had happened so fast that they had only gotten two done by the time their commanding officers had been pulled off of the ice, and thus Tally co-opted one and Obi-Wan stripped out of his frozen clothes in the other, teeth chattering, before changing into fresh ones and going to help with the rest of camp. By the time Obi-Wan took a moment to get checked out himself, Tally ordered him to sit down for a checkup and thus now, here they were.

"Physically? His right hand got frostburned, but he didn’t freeze long enough to get hypothermic. I got that dressed in bacta, it should be okay by morning, but he’d best keep his gloves on outside for the rest of this mission." Tally looked back at him, unblinking. "Mentally? I won’t be able to give you a good read on that until tomorrow, probably. Sometimes a couple tranks and a good night’s sleep is all he needs, but sometimes it’s not."

Obi-Wan huffed quietly, just absorbing that. "I think he’s spent more time drugged in some form this year than he did even in that first year at the Temple."

"Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re trying to treat chronic mental health problems with acute medications," Tally said, eyes flashing narrow, a bite to the words. His tone was calm, but it was hard, and Obi-Wan was surprised at the undertone of bitterness. Though, he probably shouldn’t have been. "If they didn’t throw you Force sensitives off so much and I had the authority, I would have had him on anxiety medication within the first week he fell under my care and for a lot longer than a few weeks here or there. He's living his entire frippin' life in a state of alert, it's only when he's dosed up on something that his blood pressure and heartrate comes anywhere near what his baseline should be, and it's gotta be burning him out, physically and mentally. And he doesn't even know any other way to be, yet, though I think he's figuring some things out about it." He paused a moment, then continued a little more softly, "Sir, I know why Maul’s not in the Temple. I know why he’s out here, and I wouldn’t pick another CO if you gave me a choice of the entire Grand Army now, but in a perfect galaxy, I’d stick him on some beautiful world as far away from any conflict as I could get him. Better here than the Temple, but even here, when something like this happens, it’s hard on him. And that's something you and Croft and everyone else needs to start taking into account."

"Like Alderaan?" Obi-Wan asked, offering a smile, just looking at the medic. As odd as it was, having someone else giving him the _what-for_ over his other-half’s mental health, he was– grateful, for it. Genuinely so.

Tally blinked, then had the good grace to look a little chastened. "You’ve already thought about all of this."

Obi-Wan nodded, then took a sip of his tea. "I have. And I have made some very careful overtures towards Vokara Che about upgrading his cybernetics; unfortunately, given the war and the Council's view on Maul, she hasn't been able to gain any headway."

"They’re good quality and they’re perfectly fine in a civilian world, sir. But they weren’t ever made for a war, and he's been getting more and more compulsive about checking them over. I’m waiting for the day there’s a catastrophic failure and he pays for it with his life, if the stress of worrying about them doesn't get to him first."

"I know."

"And he shouldn’t have been on that ice, either."

"I know." Obi-Wan took a slow breath in, then let it out. "Tally–" He stopped a moment, sorting his thoughts out, not wanting to say the wrong thing. But Force knew how few people he could confide in about any of this; he only had Bail and Breha, and somewhat unwittingly, Maul’s Blackbirds had turned into one of the better support networks, in one way or another, that he had ever had. And he wanted to keep that and provide it, as well. "I do think about it. All of this. Not long before the Blackbirds were formed, I was willing to walk all over his self-determination if it would keep him safe, and sometimes I have to watch that I don’t fall back into the habit because _I don’t want him out here either_. But you’re right, this is better than the Temple. And yes, I know it’s hard on him, but I also know how much good the eleven of you have done for him, and for that matter, that he’s done for you. Until the best can happen, this is the best I can do." He pressed his mouth into a line, throat aching a little, and gestured with his free hand. "I shouldn’t have taken him with me out there, but I didn’t foresee this. I’ll be more cautious next time, but I can’t – and shouldn’t – tell him he can’t do his duty, because that would certainly do more damage in the long term."

Tally didn’t look thrilled with that answer, though he did look like he understood it. He breathed out, rubbing down over his face one-handedly, and then nodded. "Yeah." He jerked his chin towards the opening of the tent. "My prescription for you is to go and spend the rest of the evening and night cuddling, if you can get away with it." Something in his eyes turned gentle. "I know you two don’t get nearly enough time together these days and I know you don’t get enough sleep when he’s not there to get you into a bed. Cody and Shiv can handle everything else."

"Yes, sir," Obi-Wan quipped back, and was heartened when Tally gave him a full grin back. He rose to his feet, setting the blanket aside long enough to get his parka back on – short as the space was between all of the tents, which looked quite like snow-drifts and mounds from above – just to avoid any more tongue-lashing. "You know, I don’t think Cody’s forgiven me yet, for taking you out of the infantry? But I'm still glad you are where you are."

"I was the only one you knew personally," Tally answered, standing and then wrapping the blanket back around Obi-Wan once his parka was zipped again.

"I knew you would protect him." Obi-Wan gladly accepted it, even if he couldn’t feel it, because he most certainly was going to take it to bed with him. "Even from me, if necessary."

Tally paused at that, something touched in his eyes, a very rare display of vulnerability. It wasn't the first time Obi-Wan had said something like that, no, but it _was_ the first time he had included himself in it. Then Tally cleared his throat. "I don’t think it’s necessary. Just– no more ice expeditions. Might take an extra day, but we can go around the lakes."

"Deal." Obi-Wan bumped his shoulder off of Tally’s, casual affection, then headed out to go and do as he’d been prescribed to do. Though, he paused and looked back then, squinting playfully. "Did you give Maul a lecture, too?"

Tally arched an eyebrow. "I didn’t lecture Maul because he doesn’t give me any shit, sir. But if he ever does, yeah, I’ll gnaw his ears off because if he’s giving me shit, then I know he can take a lecture. You, on the other hand…"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Fair enough," he said, then slipped out with a smirk.

Behind him, Tally was muttering playfully, "Damned right it is."

 

 

 

"–who the editor was on this. I mean, _'he called you pretty…that’s practically an insult, the way you look right now… you’re much more than beautiful.’_ How trite is that? That’s not flirting, that’s butchery, and who even uses that many ellipses in a single sentence? Was this supposed to be romantic?"

"I haven’t the faintest."

Obi-Wan went back to his (their) tent only to find Raze had co-opted his spot. It was then that he knew Maul would probably shake this off and be all right; Obi-Wan had already figured out that Raze was incredibly good at making those around him feel better, seemingly unwittingly, and not even Maul was immune to it.

Right now, Raze was reclining against Obi-Wan’s pack, working from a datapad; Maul was curled up in enough blankets to practically bury him, on the sleep pad next to his demolitions expert. He sounded about as drowsy as someone well-tranquilized would, but the fact he was talking at all was a good sign.

Raze looked up like a startled woodland animal, with his wide dark eyes. "Kriff, sir. Sorry, I’ll get out of your way–"

"Relax, Raze," Obi-Wan answered, nodding towards the datapad before turning to close the inner flap of the tent to keep the warmth in. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Reading a really horrible but really popular romance novel. Something about people that sparkle or something. I’m Tango’s beta-reader and I wanted to see what people were into right now, but this is pretty bad." Raze seemed to calm down, though he turned off his datapad and stuck it in the pocket of his parka, stretching some.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows wavered. "What does Tango write?"

"Just– you know. War stories. Sometimes romance." Raze leaned over and practically draped himself on the pile of blankets and the zabrak under them. "'Night, Lieu," he said, and Obi-Wan’s heart ached something warm and sweet when Maul managed to free his good hand to scratch at the back of Raze’s shoulder in a return of the affection. Then Raze got up and pulled his parka on, doing it up and giving Obi-Wan a sheepish grin and a shoulder-bump on the way back out. "’Night, General."

Obi-Wan watched him go, then went to sit in the recently vacated spot, keeping his boots off of their sleeping pad as he undid them. The insides of the tents were good at keeping heat in, but he was still looking forward to getting under blankets, including his very favorite one. "How are you, darling?" he asked, softly, looking over; Maul had everything but his eyes and nose covered up, but he didn’t seem to be shivering anymore.

Maul quirked his brow drowsily. "Chilled. My hand is sore. All right enough. You?"

"Chilled, my arms are sore and I have been ordered to bed. An order I intend to follow." Obi-Wan finished getting out of his boots and stripped down to leggings and undershirt, then slid down, using his tunic as a pillow and shivering once as he patted his shoulder. "Come warm me up?"

Maul was a bit sluggish, but clearly not in any reluctance. He managed to get unwrapped enough to share his pile of warm blankets and Obi-Wan shuddered even harder when all of that heat washed across him, including the heat radiating off of Maul, shifting and pulling until he had Maul tucked against his side, head on his shoulder.

His home, before all others.

"I’m sorry about earlier," he said, sliding a hand up over a bared shoulder until he had his fingers framed around Maul’s ear, thumb ticking once against the temple horn cut flat for no other reason than so they could lay like this. "I should have been more cautious."

Maul huffed out a sigh, turning his head a little to rub his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder; the tip of his nose was still a little cold. "Don’t do that. I knew it was going to be harder for me, I chose to go anyway."

Old protests leapt to Obi-Wan’s tongue without permission, but he nodded and swallowed them down. "Still, I think we should just go around this body of water and any others we run across."

Maul settled again, form heavy. "All right."

Give Obi-Wan’s darling this; he was practical. Pragmatic. Stubborn, but not when it came to common sense.

"I love you so," Obi-Wan said, that same ache in his throat from earlier returning, as he reached out to turn off the lantern and allow the darkness inside of the tent to fall over them. "I miss you every night we’re parted."

He had never pined before the war, before Zigoola, but ever after, he felt Maul’s absence next to him like a hollow spot in his chest, throbbing in those moments he had to feel it. And in those moments, he wished for Iloh or Alderaan, or even just them both in their bed on the _Negotiator_ , and knew he would never be able to go back again to the time when duty filled that empty space.

Maul didn’t answer right away, but the arm he had wrapped around Obi-Wan tightened briefly. Then he just said, "I know. I love you, too."

As rare as the words still were, to speak or to hear, Obi-Wan treasured them every time. And now was no different.

He closed his eyes in the dark and let his breathing fall into the same rhythm as Maul’s, leaving for the night the war and the cold outside, for the chance to be home.


	11. Dibs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Older piece, cleaned up and contextualized: On Omereth, Castle's does some light maintenance on Maul's cybernetics while Raze (wittingly or un) does some light maintenance on their L-T's mindstate.

The furniture was definitely not made for this, but no one wanted to get back on the _Nest_ again when there was a sea breeze to bask in during the cooling evening; when the long twilight was casting soft violets and sweet blues across the pinkish colored sand. Through the screened front door of the slapdash vacation cottage, the scent of water and salt and marine plant life drifted in, swirled around the room, then renewed itself again and again.

Out on the beach, a few of the squad were hanging out watching the stars; Misty was still in and out of the water, too, so a they were also keeping an eye out on him for safety’s sake, even though out of all of them, Misty was the most at home in an ocean. And out on the landing platform, Tango was doing some preflight work on the Delta-6 he wanted to give a test flight to tomorrow, now that it was completely repaired and all diagnostics were checked out

Inside, Castle was sitting with Maul’s right leg propped on the table in front of him, a pair of magnaspecs on and a kit open beside him.

It had taken awhile for Castle to notice how compulsive Maul’s checking of his own cybernetic joints had become, but he eventually did; had noticed that Maul would often pull a panel off to check over his knees and feet, which were the only parts of the cybernetics he could access without potentially tripping the security measures in them. At first, it had seemed like it was just safety consciousness, but they were pretty high quality as prostheses went and shouldn’t have needed more than the occasional, rare adjustment on top of routine maintenance.

Castle had no idea when the routine maintenance happened. Maul was close-lipped about his cybernetics, except maybe to Tally or Shiv; it was Tally who clued Castle in on there being something amiss with all this, unwittingly. When Castle noticed the look – worried and sad – on the medic’s face as Maul went through yet another adjustment, he figured out that maybe it wasn’t so much an issue with the cybernetics as it was an issue with the lieutenant himself.

Which, really, Castle couldn’t blame him. Bravo-984 had been a bad jolt. The leggings Castle had designed that Maul could wear out into the field now under his fatigues would protect him from any more EMP attacks like that one, but that apparently wasn’t enough to walk back the psychological issues it had brought up. And the ding he'd gotten on Llanic had probably gotten to him some, too, even though he'd complimented Castle on the repair once he was actually awake enough to realize it had been done.

Before their last mission to the listening post, Castle had asked if he could have a look himself; Maul had hedged some, but then agreed, and thus, here they were after it and Castle was taking the mechanics in more thoroughly than he'd had the chance to when he was doing that cosmetic repair.

The cheap wicker furniture might not have been built for this sort of thing, but Castle had rearranged it to be at least marginally decent. What he found was that the cybernetics really were as high quality as they had seemed to be, but also that they were definitely showing their age. Maul had done a good job caring for them, that much was clear, but some of the gaskets were brittle and a few more were exhibiting signs of stress. The joints themselves were worn; the small hydraulics were showing signs of wearing all the way through the finishing down to bare alloy, and once Maul quietly pointed it out, Castle _could_ hear the bearings in that right knee.

They were a lightweight build, the kind designed to return an athlete to as close to their prior performance as possible, but– definitely civilian. And Maul’s actions since the beginning of the war were anything but.

The realization that the internal components were likely as worn as the ones that were accessible made even Castle’s stomach fall. And not much could do that. He didn't know what a circuit fault might end up doing; whether it would read as an escape attempt, or whether the security measures in the cybernetics would recognize the error and not do something horrible to the zabrak relying on them for mobility. Or if the hip sockets were as worn as the knees and ankles.

Kriff, no wonder Maul was getting compulsive about this.

“I can fabricate new gaskets, if you don’t mind sitting through it. And I can inject some fresh lubricant into the housing for those bearings; get both knees while I'm at it. And I can deal with a few small burrs here, too,” he had offered, about an hour ago, patting the shin of that mechanical leg he had been inspecting. It wasn’t anything as good as a proper maintenance cycle would be, but maybe having someone else doing the worrying for awhile would do the lieutenant some good.

Maul had opened his mouth to answer, but then Raze, who had been passing through, clambered onto the couch behind him and bracketed him in legs and said, “I call backrest!”

The look on Maul’s face had been downright comical; he hunched his shoulders up towards his ears, blinking and gaping a moment before half-twisting to look at the beaming demo expert behind him. “–what?”

“You’ve been sitting up straight like a statue fretting nonstop for the past twenty minutes, Lieu,” Tally said, from where he was sitting at a kitchen table reading some kind of medical text on a datapad. “Save your back from that really lousy backrest, lean on a demo expert.”

“I’m perfectly capable of sitting up for as long as necessary,” Maul said, then oof’d when Raze just bear-hugged him around the chest, snuggling him _in situ_ and provoking more of that comical confusion.

“But you don’t have to, because I’m volunteering. And I’m still cool from swimming and you’re warm.” Raze squeezed on their baffled lieutenant; privately, Castle thought he just wanted to cuddle and therefore jumped on the first convenient excuse to do so. “And I mean, you held me like this all night when I was having trouble breathing, so I’m happy to return the favor.”

“You had the _flu,_  I’m having no trouble whatsoever breathing,” Maul tried to counter, though he also wasn’t making any real effort to wiggle free. Probably because wiggling free from a Raze-cuddle was almost always guaranteed to end in failure.

“Give it up, Raze called dibs,” Tally teased.

After a few more attempts to talk his way out of being Raze’s comfort-object for the next however long, Maul finally did give up and huffed out a breath, surrendering. Raze chatting at him, Castle and everyone else probably made that some easier, too, and it distracted Maul from watching Castle working on his leg, which he had been doing with that worried furrow in his brow before he'd ended up being glomped onto by Raze.

“–anyway, I said to Boxer, I said, ‘it’s your own fault for sketching General Secura naked, you shoulda known better–’” Raze was saying now, as Castle listened, grinning to himself as he was delicately painting the new cement into place for the sheet of gasket material meant to line the inside of the knee compartment of Maul’s right leg; testing out the knee itself revealed no noise whatsoever already, and the hydraulics seemed to be just that tiny fraction smoother, too. “‘–and now everyone in addition to all our brothers are never gonna let you live it down.’ And they didn’t, I hear he’s still getting ribbed about that.”

Castle finished setting the gasket so that it could cure over the next hour or so while he switched to the left leg, then looked up; took in Raze, quite comfortable playing backrest for a zabrak, and said zabrak dead asleep, head back against Raze’s shoulder, apparently having been talked there over the past hour. “I think you lost him, Raze,” Castle said, with a smile and a shake of his head.

“Nope,” Raze said, cheerfully, leaning his head over and nuzzling it against Maul's lightly. “Got him right where I want him.”

“Captive audience, or portable heating blanket?” Tally asked, from the table, watching them with a little smile on his face, eyes soft.

Raze’s expression softened in turn, and he shrugged with his eyebrows. “Safe. Not worrying. But he’s a great blanket, too.”


End file.
